Hoist the Colours
by IdleWit
Summary: A collection of drabbles inspired by the pirate song. Please review
1. Freedom

**Freedom **

"_Where we will, we'll roam." _

**I. Where we…**

"Don't you ever want to sail again love?" he asks Lizzy on one of his rare visits as she watches young James with awed eyes and he watches her with confused ones. "Be free for a bit?"

She turns to him and her eyes sparkle as her lips turn up in that smile she always gives that little thoughtless bird.

"Free from what Jack?" always curious.

"From this," he gestures around them. At the little coastal town she lives by, at her small cottage on top of the cliff over looking the sea, at the white sandy beach they were sitting on and James was creating castles in.

"From what Jack?" she persists, looks around to what she sees as beauty and what Jack sees as chains.

"From this small bloody village."

"It's small but it doesn't' lack variety."

"From this pokey bloody cottage."

"It's comfortable, not pokey."

"From bloody life consuming mother hood then."

With this she throws back her head and laughs merrily at him, with each note sounding like falling coins he never could quite catch, no matter how far he reached.

"And what do you propose I do with Jamey if I say yes?"

Jack shrugs, waves her son away vaguely to the place where all his other problematic obstacles go. That moment, that pause as her eyes contemplated it and shone with passion, told Jack all he needed to know.

"Oh Jack," she smiles now, shaking the moment away, and she seems so much wiser now, but Jack does not envy her that. "Imagine if _your_ mother had said yes if someone asked her that!"

Jack scowls, they had and she had, but he does not say so.

"But you're not my mother are you Lizzie?" his only reply.

Elizabeth sighs, watches his thoughtful expression.

"Jack, this, all of it, I care for it."

"Even motherhood?" a glance at the annoying chit.

"_Especially_ mother hood."

"Don't know how you can stand it," he answers trying to be blithe.

"I _love_ it Jack."

"There chains," said in disturbance, trying to understand, but never being able to.

"There not chains to _me_…" she notices his perturbed and slightly disappointed look. "Maybe sometime in the future Jack, when Will gets back, we'll sail again with you…But not because I need freedom," added quickly at his triumphant look. "I'm where I belong. I'm already perfectly free."

She wouldn't and she wasn't.

"I don't believe you," said with a knowing grin.

"Why Jack, because you love freedom so much?"

"No because you love love _too_ much."

She doesn't answer to this, but they both know it is true.

She gave him an unspoken yes to his question when she pursued the conversation.

But she is chained by bloody love, and so he says no more.

He just grins and proceeds to tell her and the boy about how he learnt to fly.

The truth is no one is ever free. Jack knew it was true, yet he still liked to tell himself and everyone else the tale.

**II. Will…**

"Don't you ever want to step on land again mate?" He meets up with Will a few years later, the boy is still pining after Elizabeth as always. And their both watching the ocean, Will with commitment and Jack with capriciousness. "Be free for a bit?"

Will turns to him and his eyes show that wry laughter, and his lips turn up into that perplexed state between amusement and befuddlement of that fool of a bird's sanity.

"Free from what Jack?" Always blunt.

"From this," he gestures around them at the boat which will never wash away the blood, at the forever dreary crew, and at his scar.

"From what Jack," he persists looking around to what he sees as duty and what Jack sees as shackles.

"From this delapidated bloody ship."

"I've fixed it up, and it's sturdy now."

"From this bloody great responsibility."

"Someone must do it Jack, and it is fulfilling on occasions."

"From this bloody heartless life."

With this Will smiles, always the steady and calm one, his serene eyes were at a place Jack could never seem to reach no matter how many leagues he sailed.

"I_ have_ a heart Jack, and it's where it belongs."

"Besides," after a pause, "What do you suppose I do with, the responsibility placed upon my shoulders if I say yes?"

Jack shrugged, waved responsibilities away carelessly with a hand filled with rum, to where all his problematic obstacles went. That moment, that pause when Will's eyes filled with longing, told Jack all he needed to know.

"It's impossible," Will shook his head in earnestness, shaking the moment away. "Imagine if our King ignored his duty just to follow his desire."

Jack grinned, he had and he did, but he does not say so.

"But you're not the king are you Will?" his only reply.

Will laughs, watches his thoughtful expression.

"Jack, this, I…I enjoy it in a way."

"Even being away from your bonny lass?" he looks at him slyly from under his thick lashes.

"I will be with her soon," Will say steadily.

"'Don't know how you can stand it," attempts to be casual.

"It's my duty, a good duty."

"This, all of it, is shackles mate," not understanding one bit.

"I don't feel shackled Jack," he notices the pirate's rather troubled look. "Perhaps once my duty is done, I'll visit you on land sometime, in Tortuga….But I'm not looking for freedom Jack…my heart is with Elizabeth. I _am_ free"

He wouldn't and he wasn't.

"I don't believe you," said with a knowing smile.

"Why Jack, because _you_ love freedom so much?"

"No, because you love duty _too _much."

He says nothing to this but they both know it is true.

He gave him an unspoken yes to his question when he pursued the conversation.

But he is chained by bloody duty, and so he says no more.

He just grins and proceeds to tell him about the new song Lizzy taught him when they last met.

The truth is no one is ever free. Jack knew it was true, yet he still liked to sing to himself and everyone else the song.

**II. We'll…**

"Don't you ever want to fight again mate, like we used to?" he asks Barbossa as they sit in a bar and toast, Barbossa is drunk and inclined to pour out a bit more of his soul then usual. "Be free for a bit?"

Barbossa looks at him and his lips turn up into that toothy smirk and his eyes shine with scorn at that idiot bird's nature.

"Free from what Jack?" he drawls in his rough way and uncaring way.

"From this," he gestures around them at the drunken patrons, at the stinking tavern, at the women and men who have long ago buried their souls in order to survive in the world.

"From what Jack?" and this time he snarls angrily, looking to what he sees as living and what Jack sees as a prison.

"From all this frivolous bloody spending."

"Why, I wouldn't call it frivolous. "said with a suggestive smirk.

"From this bloody squalor."

"It can be mighty fine some nights, depending on the company you hardly notice."

"From this pointless bloody life."

With this Barbossa gives a loud Argghh, and his expression shows more life in it then Jack can seem to stir in himself at the moment, no matter how many battles he fought.

"Thinking of relieving me of my life are ye Jack?" Barossa asks suspiciously his hand on the hilt of his cutlass.

There is a pause as Jack ignores his question and merely looks down into the depths of his mug, and Barbossa slowly relaxes, inspecting his old nemesis more carefully.

"Besides Jack," he intoned, "What else do you propose I do with me life if I said yes?"

Jack shrugged, waved purpose away carelessly with a hand filled with rum, to where all his problematic obstacles went. That moment, that pause when Barbossa's eyes showed uncertainty, told Jack all he needed to know.

"Were pirates, this is what pirates do," Barbossa drinks the moment away. "Besides, imagine if the Greek God Dionysus had stopped playing his flute because he got tired of dancing his life away.

Jack laughs, he had and he did, but he did not say so.

"But you're not Dionysus are you Barbossa?" his only reply.

Barbossa growls at this, and then notices Jack's thoughtful expression.

"It's a good life Jack."

"Even when you can't see an end to it?"

"That's what makes it fun."

"Don't know how you can stand it," he answers pretending to be relaxed.

"It's life."

"This, all of it, is a prison mate," doubting he'll ever understand.

"It doesn't look like a prison to me Jack," he notices Jack's unsettled look, "Perhaps after were done here, if your really thirsting after blood though the Lord knows why seeing as we have enough jewels to last us for months. Perhaps then we can go find some ship with a cargo hold bursting with swag and have a good fight…But I ain't looking for freedom Jack, I got everything I need right here."

They wouldn't and he wasn't.

"I don't believe you," said with an infuriating laugh.

"Why because_ you_ love freedom so much?"

"No, because you love life _too _much."

He is quiet at this, but they both know it is true.

He gave him an unspoken yes to his question when he pursued the conversation.

But he is chained by bloody life, and so he says no more.

He just grins and proceeds to tell him about the time he stole Poseidon's trident.

The truth is no one is ever free. Jack knew it was true, yet he still liked to recount to himself and everyone else the legend.

**III. Roam…**

"Don't you ever want to be a child again Jack?" he asks himself in the mirror as he looks through drunken eyes at his own reflection. When he gets drunk, so drunk he can hardly remember his name, he becomes pensive and this was one of those moments. "Be free for a bit?"

Then he throws back his head and chuckles at that mad bird that knew nothing.

Finally when he is left looking at that bedraggled reflection he turns away from it.

He sighs, slumping down in the chair behind his table. A sudden screech startles him and turning his head he sees the monkey perched on his desk and watching him with a cocked head and wide eyes.

"Free from what your asking aren't you, you bloody fur ball," Jack muttered glaring at the monkey suspiciously.

"Well free from…" he takes a swig of rum to help him, and sits and stares at the wall, wondering what he had to be free from. "From life, and love and hate and fate and all the things that make you great." The rhyme slipped from his mouth, he was sure it was part of some children's rhyme but he didn't seem to be able to remember which one.

Then he laughed again, a hollow laugh, because he didn't seem to remember a lot any more.

"The edges of the map are closing in," he slurred looking at the monkey with eyes twinkling with hollow amusement. "It's what Beckett told me…or maybe Will told me he said told him…leasways perhaps he's right there. The world's getting too small now. And ain't no room for freedom no more…but maybe there never was…sometimes I think that …here"

With that he stretched out his hand to the monkey and poured some rum for him into his mouth. The monkey opened his maws wide to receive the drink.

"Lets have a toast," he cried, "To all the slaves in the world, and to the man that invented slavery, whether it be external, or in our very own minds."

His sleeve had fallen back, to show his brand, and he quickly snapped his hand back as if he had been burned. He held the rum bottle close to his chest cradling it as if he was afraid the monkey was going to steal it.

He ignored the angrily chattering creature. "Mine, mine, mine," he said to himself, closing his eyes tight, as if to remind himself of what he had, "A ship, a crew, a hold filled with rum. What more can a man want…what more…? Cept I can't I never did steal Poseidon's trident, and I never did learn that song not properly…and I certainly never could fly….And that's what sailings bout, roaming wherever you want to go, but I can't, not really because I just can't seem to fly…"

The monkey stared at Jack, and Jack laughed again as he realized who he was talking to.

"The truth is I don't love anything, cause I can't seem to. Duty is too much like chains, life is a prison and having a child…" he shudders at the thought, "It makes me want to run and never stop… And freedom…Freedom isn't real, But they…none of them seem to understand that…just you and me ol Jack, just you and me… Maybe I'll tell em one day…"

He grows silent at this, because he wouldn't and he couldn't.

They all had answered yes, all had conversed with him when he asked the question, all tried to justify that they didn't need freedom, because they already had it. They thought he had it. He didn't, but he would never tell them that. A person had to believe in something in this world or go insane.

"Maybe being insane is when were really free," he mutters to himself, but then again he should have been free a long time ago if what everyone tells him is true. Then again everyone always lied, and it wasn't good to trust anyone in the world, cept yourself, and even that was risky.

"Then again, maybe trust is freedom," but he knew it was not and he was silent for a while.

He steals a glance at the monkey, who is still staring at him.

"You think I'll never be free I know you do, you don't believe me," he keeps the conversation going although he knows it is silly, because he feels lonely and empty and needs something to say.

"Why because_ I_ love freedom so much.,."

"No because I love nothing too much"

He is quiet at this, and he doesn't know if it is true, doesn't know if anything is true.

This, everything about Jack bloody Sparrow, was a cage.

He was caged by bloody reason, by bloody experience which denied him freedom.

And if he admitted it, he would give up on a dream, so he says no more.

He just laughs at himself, shakes off his mood and proceeds to tell Jack the monkey about the time he flew.

The truth is no one is ever free. Jack knew it was true, yet he still liked to tell himself and everyone else the lie.


	2. Moments

**MOMENTS**

"…_Some men are dead, and some are alive, and others sail on the sea…"_

**I. Some men are dead.**

They dance around the fire, the light flickering over them, filling their eyes, their feet prancing in an odd movement which was not quite like a dance yet not quite like a stumble either.

And at that moment she feels young.

Then suddenly she finds that they have stopped, falling in a heap upon one another. She couldn't locate the exact moment they had stopped, or who had decided upon it, but it simply happened in the middle of their dance and they both flung themselves upon the sand.

Both exhausted, laughing breathlessly and looking up at the stars though they did not know what was quite so funny, or what was so interesting about those endless twinkling orbs which mocked the briefness of their lives yet endlessness of their days.

Then all together she finds her head turning to look at him lying next to her, and suddenly her curiosity was sparked. She knew she was using him as a means to an end, that when all was said and done he'd go his way and she'd go hers. But in the suddenness of the moment, with no knowledge of what would happen to both of them in the distant future or the near one, she felt desperate to know who he was.

That's what life is, she thought oddly, just a string of talkings and knowings and then leavings, with no rest in between. Three different parts which when put together made up a life and summed up a person's relationship with everyone else.

Life was simply moments between people, some exciting, others tiring, but all just moments gone almost as quickly as they had come. Then one was looking forward to the next moment with the next person, and it continued on until there was no more people, and no more moments, and finally no more life.

She feels desperate to do this with him, because she sees in his eyes stories and tales which aren't all exaggerated, and she wishes to know them and share them if only for a moment.

She does not know how to tell him all this, so she sits up and just watches him. Finally he notices her watching, and feeling rather awkward he sits up himself and catches her eye.

"What's wrong?" he finally slurs, taking a moment in his rum addled state to remember how to string words together.

"What's your story Jack?" she finally asks after a pause, it seemed such a simple question yet it fit.

She waits with bated breath to see what he will say as he looks at her with an odd expression, his eyes dancing in the fire light, yet not as light as they had been a moment before. She begins to wonder if she should not have asked, but brushes this thought aside. After all when again would she have the opportunity to ask him?

"My story?" he finally asks his voice slightly clearer as he watches her. His eyes flicker in the fire light, "What do you think it would be?"

"Oh I don't know," she says becoming excited and leaning towards him eagerly. She is young and she wants tales of gold and of excitement and he knows it. "The truth I suppose."

"Well miss," he finally says after a silence. He sits up and takes a heavy swig of rum, looking towards the ocean. "My stories filled with loneliness, and hunger, and Tortuga, and pick pocketing, and surviving, and whores and finally whoring…"

She looks at his face in shock, and is disappointed with the solemn look that has shadowed him. There is a pause.

"Is that true?" she finally asks quietly, trying to gage his face and if there was any honesty there.

He looks at her his gaze searching and forcing her to look away to her folded hands.

"It's what you expect of a pirate," he finally answers simply.

"Is none of it true then?" she asks wondering about the answer.

She wishes he wasn't so solemn and was back to dancing and laughing. She wishes he had told her the story she wanted to hear, of the gold and the treasure and the adventures, and not of the nightmare he had exposed. Most of all she wishes that this moment was over.

"Maybe," he shrugs, "Then again maybe not." Then he grins again, the years falling from his face, and rises with his rum. Once more he begins to caper around the fire once more singing with gold in his eyes.

Then she smiles half heartedly and rises to join him and to dance some more.

And she realizes that she has just had her first moment with him.

And she tries to understand what he has just told her, like a riddle.

It is only later that she finds he never did answer her question.

And she realizes that moment between them, the one they first had, that one was the talking part.

**II. And some are alive.**

She has grown, not in the physical sense though she has learnt how to use a sword. But she has grown in other senses. She knows more and she is aware of more.

And at that moment she feels experienced.

She knows he lied to her last time she asked.

Yet she is still curious about him, more curious then before, but less curious then she would be in a year's time, though she wasn't to know that. This time she wasn't inhibited by intoxicating youth, which left her awkward around him.

She was well used to his teasing by now, his suggestions. But she knew when it came to it he would choose his ship over her, and she would choose Will without a second thought. There was nothing wrong with harmless flirting however, and she enjoyed knowing that nothing serious would ever be supposed of her fluttering eyelashes and coy smile, not from him at least.

He is at home on his ship, at ease and his odd gait did not seem so odd as he strutted around, almost showing her off to Elizabeth. Elizabeth sometimes found herself watching him on the journey, trying to figure him out, though that was impossible.

It was however, why she knew he had lied to her last time. No Tortugan child would be able to read and write as he did and certainly even well bred people found it hard to speak in different tongues as fluently as he.

This knowledge makes her smile as she watches him draw a map with care, sitting on the deck and basking in the sun. It is what encouraged her to ask him once more that question.

Coming up behind him she looks at the intricate map with its swirls and pictures which only a trained cartographer could draw. She looks at it and she wonders, and finds that she cannot tear her eyes away from that expert drawing and from his skilled hands.

"Do you actually want anything love?" he asks her, feeling awkward as she stares and looking toward her with a mixture of annoyance and smugness. "Or are you just admiring the view?" He smirks at this, showing his gold teeth, she simply smiles back as smugly.

"What's your story Jack?" she asks that simple question again, and he pauses for a moment looking at her with that odd expression once again.

His eyes are shining in the sun, and she doesn't know if it is just her imagination, or if they have dulled somewhat as soon as he hears that question leave her lips once more.

She does not regret asking, though doubt creeps up to her she brushes it aside more quickly then she did the first time. After all when would she get the chance ask him this question again?

"My story," he finally asks, shading his eyes with his thick black lashes and leaning closer, almost flirtatiously. "And what exactly would you want that to be love." He gives her a suggestive smile, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh I don't know," she says, pretending to think. She is has seen more and knows more and she is eager to hear stories of battles and the sea and he knows it. "How about the truth this time."

He smiles slightly again, and sways closer to her, his breath tickling her face and making her grimace slightly. "Well Lizzy," he says almost in a whisper, a slight smirk playing upon his lips. "My stories filled with pirate blood, and legends and adventures and the sea and freeing and finally freedom."

She narrows her eyes and steps back as she notices that his hand has come up while he says all this to rest upon her neck. He doesn't take offence but grins like a naughty boy who has been caught trying to pinch from the pantry.

She looks at his face in suspicion and is slightly disappointed with the playful look that has come over it.

"Is that true?" she finally asks quietly trying to gage his face and wondering if there was ever any honesty there.

He gives her a searching look, and she is again forced to drop her gaze, looking down at her booted feet.

"It's what you expect of a legend," he finally answers simply.

"Is none of it true then?" she asks rather annoyed because she wants the answer now.

She wishes he wouldn't look at her in that way, and that he was back to flirting and swaggering and cursing. She wishes he had told her the story she wanted to hear, of the battles and the sea and the adventures, and not the lie he had wove. Most of all she wishes that this moment would last a little longer.

"Maybe," he shrugs. "Then again maybe not." And he grins that infuriating grin of knowledge and ends the moment by turning away and swaggering to his wheel. Once more he is back to swaggering, once more cursing with freedom in his eyes. Then she smiles and follows to join him and to flirt some more.

And she realizes she has just had her second moment with him.

And she tries to remember what he has just told her, like a story.

It is only later that she finds he never did answer her question.

And she realizes that moment between them, the last one they just had, that one was the knowing part.

**III. And others sail on the sea.**

She sits on some old steps in the dark of a wrecked ship, which along with others, makes up shipwrecks cove and the pirates haven. She neither feels young, nor experienced at that moment, but a heavy weight has fallen upon her, making her just feel troubled.

And at that moment she feels old.

She has just called all the pirates to a battle, a battle she was unsure of winning and a battle she knew would probably kill most of them. All she could see was Becketts cold face and all she could hear was Jack's voice saying 'Pirate' and all she knew were Will's warm eyes asking her how he could trust her.

She felt like curling up like a child and crying, she felt like standing up and screaming, she felt like doing all these things, but instead she just sat and stared and did nothing. Then there were boots in the quiet corridor, lighted by candles held upon brackets. She did not look up, she could not mistake that stride, and then Jack was gracefully throwing himself down beside her.

They sat like that in silence for a while, and then he looks at her face so drawn and pale and he reluctantly holds out his rum bottle to her. She takes it without seeing it and before she knows it she has tipped it, flung her head back and drowned half of it's contents.

He sits there and just looks at her, saying nothing, and the silence stretches for what seems like an age. She feels as if she is going to be sick, because she knows the night will not last forever and she needs something to distract her from the fast approaching dawn and from the battle which was sure to come bloodier then any before.

She finds herself heavy with the rum, her eyes drooping but with no sleep forthcoming, and he sits beside her through this without one word. She finds herself looking at him, really looking, something she hadn't done since he'd been taken to the depths.

He has changed once more, in her eyes he is always changing. And she finds despite herself, that curiosity is once more stirring as she remembers the odd look he had given the man, the keeper of the code, and the odd conversation she had overheard between them. She never realized Jack had parents. And then she begins to wonder about how many pirates had parents, and how many _were_ parents, and how many had sisters and brothers they probably would never see because she had ordered them into a fools battle.

Then she finds herself babbling things to him, though she could not exactly remember what. Things about her childhood, things she hadn't spoken of in such a long time. Her fears about marriage, her fears without marriage, her woes over Will and her woes over herself. And then she finds she is crying though she doesn't know how it started or when it started and an apology is mingled with the tears, so garbled he does not hear it or maybe he chooses not to.

And he pats her on the back awkwardly and gives her more rum and tells her to let it all out because it's the best thing to do before a battle. And then she is crying because she is ashamed because she is scared. And though she doesn't remember telling him this he answers as if she has, telling her that everyone is scared before a battle, that everyone is scared of dying. And then she asks him what it's like and he takes his hand from her back, and there is silence once more.

She knows she has erred in some way, and in her intoxicated state she knows she should leave well alone but she cannot help it and it spills out.

"What's your story Jack?" she asks that simple question for what she imagines to be the last time.

She asks it as she looks at his changed face, which has not aged at all, but somehow looks an age older, or maybe it was his eyes. And he turns to her, from where he had been looking at the wall in cold silence, and that odd expression which she could never identify flickered across his face. And she thinks maybe she could never give a name to it because it was all emotions mingled into one, as he thought of the lifetime he had lived.

His eyes flicker in the candle light and she knows they have been duller since they brought him back from Davy Jones' locker. And this time she does regret asking the question straight after the first one. But she also knew she would never get another chance to ask him again.

"My story," he says quietly after the drawn out silence. "And what do you expect it to be?"

"I don't know," she replies slurring slightly and shrugging at his even tone and even eyes. She is burdened and wants a fairytale about freedom and care freeness and he knows it but he does not feel so accommodating this time. "Maybe the truth this time round." And she attempts to smile, but it is weak.

"Well Elizabeth," he says in those same even tones, there is a pause as she waits with bated breath for him to continue, and he plays with the dragon ring upon his finger. "My story's filled with a pretty mother and foreign lands and spices and uncertainty and fever and finally madness."

She looks at his face with sympathy and is not disappointed as he looks back, the candle light flickering as if in his very eyes, an unreadable look upon his face.

"Is that true?" she asks trying to gage his face, and knowing there is some honesty there just as there is some lies.

And this time she is the one with the searching gaze and he is the one who drops his to that ring upon his finger.

"It's what you expect of a man," he finally answers simply. His air is almost blasé now, and he attempts to flash a grin.

"Well," she says resolutely as she notices he does not succeed, "I think some of it must be true. Actually I think there's truth in all of them, all your stories."

"How can you say that," he says, looking at her with an entirely amused expression on his face though his eyes say otherwise, Elizabeth would almost say it was worry. "There all different stories, they can't _all _be true. Well not about _me_ at least"

"I'm sure some parts are true," she answers not taking her eyes off his face, "And together they do make the whole truthful story about Jack."

There is a pause as he does not look at her and he does not answer her and she thinks she may have got it right and despite everything feels excitement rush through her as she thinks her curiosity might just be slaked. And finally she asks him looking intently at his face. "Will you tell me it?"

He doesn't answer her, and the silence seems to stretch on for an age, then he looks at her with piercing eyes. "Only the good parts love?" he asks instead, his face as solemn as the first time they had this conversation an age ago.

"Some of the bad parts too then?" she asks quietly after a drawn silence, dropping her gaze back to her lap at his look. There is a pause between them as he does not answer. "Are all of them true then?" she asks rather sadly, and she finds she does not want the answer anymore.

She wishes he wouldn't look so solemn anymore and she wished he had told her all the stories she wanted to hear, all the fairytales and not the truth he had added. Most of all she wises that this moment had never happened.

"Maybe," he says and then he gets up to go nowhere with a storm in his eyes. He did not grin, nor did he dance or sing, or swagger or curse.

She sits alone, unsmiling and does not follow him. But his words still haunt her and all his stories. It goes on for the rest of the night, and though she is distracted from thinking about the battle, she would have proffered to have been thinking of it rather then of what Jack's life had been like.

And she realizes she has had her last moment with him.

And she tries to forget what he has told her like a bad dream

It was only later that she finds he never did answer her question, and she never does want him to.

And she realizes that moment between them, the last one they had, that one was the leaving part.


	3. Never

**Never**

_"…Heave ho, thieves and beggars_

_Never shall we die..." _

**I. Heave Ho...**

"You're getting old," Jack says as soon as she opens the door to their knock.

It's been three years since their last visit and his eyes shine as bright as ever.

The truth is she's only thirty five. Bootstrap is long gone, most of the pirates are. Barbossa and Jack were among the few left. They came to have a drink they told her.

"So are you," Elizabeth retorted, noting that they were older then they had been before, with more wrinkles.

"Never," he flashes his golden teeth at her, his eyes shining with life.

They sit down at the disordered table, she gives them each a drink. They are no longer at each others throats like they used to be.

"So you two have finally learnt to get along," she comments.

"We've reached an accord of sorts, learnt to share…There's too few of us left…"

"Maybe you're just getting too old for those sorts of things."

"Never are too old for those sorts of things miss," Barbossa says before Jack can reply.

"I thought you said you were going to find the fountain of youth?" she frowns at Jack.

"Never did get around to it," he says.

"Gave up?"

"No, just became preoccupied with other things."

"It's too late now."

"Never too late love," another grin.

Her son, James comes in from outside wide eyed, laughing delightedly as he sees his favorite pirates. They grin and give him the few inexpensive trinkets they brought. He squeals with delight and begs them for a story.

"About what?"

" Pirates."

"What about the one about the curse of the Black Pearl then?"

Will came in later from a day of work. After the ten years were over he too had begun to grow old.

Once James had gone to bed they sat up together and drank.

"How's the trade been?"

"Not so good."

"It was no use then…the fighting… they're taking over anyway… "

"We lost," she says it for most of them.

"It wasn't about winning or losing love. It was just about buying some time; we bought ourselves some extra time is all." But she didn't say it for all.

There is silence as they all drink, thinking grim thoughts. She reaches out before she knows it and has Jack's small braided beard in her hand, looking at it closely. It has a faint trace of grey, she lets it go.

"You're getting old," she says, this time feeling a little sadder.

"Never," how he replies, how he always replies.

**II. Thieves...**

Five years have passed when they come again. Every time they leave she always trusts that they will come back, despite everything, and they always do.

"You're getting old," he says again once she opens the door, looking at her closely.

"I know," she says. "So are you."

"Never."

This time they bring James a small hat and sword, Elizabeth knows he is too big for them but she does not tell them, putting the presents away.

Barbossa is wounded, shot perhaps or stabbed. They do not say how and she does not ask. They're both looking older, more worn. Jack's hair is streaked with grey hairs; Barbossa now has a full head of them.

The pirates have been fading out. Barbossa and Jack are one of the last left now and Barbossa wasn't looking too good at all.

"Why did you come?"

"We need a place to stay for a little while; he's been a bit sick."

She gives them a small cot in the corner of the room, Barbossa falls asleep immediately, his breathing labored. They sit at the table, a drink between them.

"How long has he been like this?"

"A while maybe…he says he's dying."

"He's old, older then you." There is silence between them. "Any news?"

"What are you expecting love?"

"I don't know," silence again.

"We can't stay long, were being chased. We best be off soon."

"He's not going to last very long traveling like that."

"Thought it was bout time we started searching for that fountain again." He gets up.

"Aren't you even going to stay until Will and James get home? He's grown so much since you last saw him. He asks after you two a lot. He's eager for another story."

He pauses, hesitant, then sighs exasperatedly and takes out some rolled up paper from his pocket.

"Here," he says roughly, "Give the little scamp this."

"What is it about?" she asks, stroking the rough surface of the scroll.

He flashes a grin and she notices his eyes still shine bright. "Tell him it's the one about the dead mans chest."

Then she helps him wake Barbossa and they leave. This time she knows that only one of them will be coming back.

**III. And Beggars...**

The next time he comes it's been eight years, and he comes alone.

None of them say anything about it, though she guesses they never did get around to finding that fountain.

She's beginning to get aches and pains, and feels old. She can't do as much as she used to.

He looks old. He has more wrinkles, and big streaks of grey, almost a full head.

He is now one of the last pirates left.

"You're getting old," is the first thing he says once she opens the door.

"I feel old," she replies this time. "And you are too."

"Never," it was always never with him.

Both James and Will are home this time. Jack seems rather surprised about how much James has grown, and how old Will has gotten. It was as if he hadn't realized any time had elapsed since he'd last seen them.

"You're a man now eh," he says to James, staring.

James is polite to him, but he only faintly remembers Jack, and he has forgotten Barbossa altogether. The only things he remembers are the adventures and stories he built around them.

"Well, aren't you going to ask for one of my stories then? You used to love them when you were younger."

"Which one would you like to tell?"

"How bout you decide this time eh?"

James pauses, then he remembers the one his mother and father used to tell him, but which he never heard from Jack, though he waited for it, until his memory of Jack slowly faded.

"What about the one about worlds end?"

A pause..silence… "How bout another one eh? I don't really feel like telling that one…not yet."

Finally Elizabeth shoos Will and James to bed as they begin to yawn into their empty plates and the sky grows darker outside. They work so hard all day, she tells Jack as she begins to clear up the dishes.

"The boys grown," Jack says after a few minutes occupied with the clattering of plate. "Did he stop asking after me?"

"No, he still asked about you…sometimes. It's been a long time Jack…" a pause as the thought hangs in the air.

"Who would have thought," he finally says after a lengthy silence, watching her.

"Thought what Jack?"

"Who would have thought we'd end up where we are. All those years ago, when we parted ways, our lives were just beginning…now …this… You a domestic house wife and mother, Will a blacksmith again, and me…me…" he trails off.

"Why didn't you tell him the story?" she asks quietly.

"Because," he says, "Because it was the last one."

Silence.

"I suppose were getting too old for stories now."

"Our lives are winding down love, but….but still don't you wish for more sometimes?"

"I feel old Jack."

"It's not too late," he says, and now his voice is excited and he can barely contain his childish eagerness. Despite his age that is what he always reminds her of, a child. "You, the boy, Will…you can come with me and we can search for the fountain…it can be like it used to…"

"Stop it Jack," she snaps, because she's been thinking those same thoughts for many years now…playing with that same hope…but in the end that's all it is, just hope. "It will never be like it used to."

"What happens if I had found the fountain of youth eh? What then?"

A pause, they look at each other, his eyes pleading, hers just sad.

"But you didn't."

His eyes flash and he grabs his effects, storming out and slamming the door behind him. She stares at the closed door for a while, and then sinks into a chair, still staring. She notices tears are falling down her cheeks and blurring her vision. This makes her cry harder because this time she doesn't know if he will come back.

**IV. Never Shall...**

The next time_ he_ sees_ her_ and it's been fifteen years. He's now the last pirate.

She would have probably been surprised he was even alive, though everyday since he last left her she went out to the beach and looked towards the horizon for those black sails. He eventually did come back five years ago, but by then it was too late…

When he first steps on the beach she runs to him, as if to embrace him, like she always does. She never does embrace him however, she can't…she isn't real. But he ignores that, because for that moment he just wants to pretend it was like it used to be.

"You're getting old love," he says, like he always does and she laughs like she always has since the first time he had begun to see her like this. On this same beach, on this same day every year. He supposes it is so regular because his visits to her in life were never so. He doesn't know why she is the only one of them he sees. She is not a ghost, he is sure, just a bit of his imagination, his hope, but he is happy for at least that, even if it is the same every time.

"I_ am_ old," she says to him. She looks like she probably would have in life, she has a full head of grey, many wrinkles, and she is beginning to become frail. "But so are you."

"Never," he says, like he always does.

He has a full head of grey, and his knees creak and his hands are brittle. He looks tired.

Then they sit down together and she tells him, like she tells him every year, how Will died of a fever ten years ago. How the doctors said he might have survived if he'd been younger (he supposes this bit is a little of his own guilt mixed with the delusion). James is now married, and has children, she tells him.

"I'm a grandmother now Jack," she says proudly.

"Aye," he says, looking sadly up at the cottage sitting on the top of the cliff that used to be their home. It was old and worn out now. He had found out that James and his family had moved on after his parent's death. There is silence between them as she waits expectantly for what he is supposed to say next, what he has said all these many years since he's been coming here and having this conversation. But he does not say it, he just looks, and for once he feels sick of this, doing this, because this isn't Lizzy. And for once he maybe thinks that what she had said all those years ago was true, that it can never be like it used to.

"That all happened ten years ago," he finally says to the illusion that looks at him searchingly, "You know you're not real." He looks at her sadly.

"I know," she replies simply, so matter of factly. "James stopped asking about you Jack," she continues the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Jack sighs sadly, and looks out to sea, he doesn't know whether this is his punishment or whether he has finally turned completely mad.

"I thought he might," he also continues though.

There is silence, he is supposed to say something else, but instead he reaches into his coat and takes out the crystal bottle with its clear water, looking at it. "I finally did get around to finding that fountain," he says, looking to her. She is looking at the bottle, and for a moment she really does look like Lizzy.

"Oh," she says. It is unlike the conversation they had been having all these years, he has never tried this before, never mentioned the bottle. But you can't wait forever, he thought angrily, it's what's holding you back, them. You might as well bring it out in the open and talk about it with her…with this illusion…with your own guilty conscience.

"Is that it?" he asks.

"Well what do you want me to say Jack?" she asks, and she gives him a look so like the real Elizabeth the he begins to wonder. But he dismisses this doubt, he knows that if he reaches out to touch her she will just disappear, because she isn't real.

"I don't know."

"Have you drunken it yet?"

He indicates his aged appearance, "Obviously not."

"Why not?"

He looks at her sadly, "I was waiting for you," he says quietly, "For all of you…I thought…if you and Will had only waited for one bloody year more…I would have come…And now I'm…I'm still waiting for you…" There is silence between them, when he turns to look at her again, he is surprised to see she is still there and looking at him.

"It's been a long time Jack," she says quietly.

"Never too late."

"I had a long time to think about it when I was alive," she says, it's the first time she's actually talked about her life as if it has passed. "And I realized, there's nothing wrong with getting old, everyone does. I looked at my grandchildren, and they thought I was the wisest most wonderful being on this earth. I still had love, no matter how old I was."

"Until you died," Jack says, looking at her. "They'll forget you now."

"No," she says quietly, "No, they will remember me, you don't have to live forever to be remembered Jack. It is the best way to keep on living."

"I'd rather literally live forever Lizzy," he says looking down at the bottle.

"What's the point of living forever when everyone and everything you care about has died around you?" she asks.

"Because," he says quietly, "Dyeing is bloody worse."

"Tell me a story Jack," she suddenly says.

"Bout what?"

"The one about death."

"You didn't have to die."

"I would have never chosen to live forever and never see Will again."

"You wouldn't have seen Will once you died, you would have just stopped."

"You don't know that Jack, you've never really died."

"I don't want to," he says, "I want to _live_."

"But you don't want to live alone. That's why you brought the bottle, wasn't it?" Silence is her reply. "I wouldn't have drunk it. I made my peace with getting old Jack. You should too."

"Never," he says defiantly, looking at her.

"Then drink," he is about to bring it to his lips, then pauses.

"Wouldn't you have had just a little?" he asks, she laughs.

"A little would have meant an eternity."

"Is that so bad love?"

"Just because you don't grow old Jack," she says to him, reaching out her hand as if to touch his face, "Doesn't mean your soul doesn't grow tired. Your eyes have shone over all these years; don't be the one to snuff them out."

"Can I ask you something?" she queries after a pause.

"What?"

"Why do you want to live?" she asks.

"Because I'm afraid to die," he says. Her hand is so close to his face, but she does not touch him, and finally she lowers it.

"Is that the only reason?" she asks.

"Does there need to be any other?" this time he asks quietly.

"Living because you think dying is unpleasant Jack," she says quietly, looking searchingly into his eyes. "It's not really living at all."

"You're starting to sound like me," he says. She laughs.

"I try," she says, "You're a smart man Jack, and I trust you."

"Aye," he says quietly, "But somehow I still don't know what I'm supposed to do." He looks to her and he wants the answer so desperately.

"I can't make that decision for you," she says sadly instead, "But we'll wait for you…all of us…we'll wait."

Then she gets up and turns to go.

"I am _never_ getting old Lizzy," he calls to her defiantly; she looks down at him and smiles sadly.

"Never is an awfully long time Jack."

"Not long enough," he says and suddenly he feels very sad and very tired…and very _old_.

"We'll wait that long then," she says smiling down at him, almost as if she knows what is on his mind, "We'll wait for as long as it takes." Then she turns to go. And now he knows this time is different from all the other times he's come on this beach to talk to her, because this time it really_ is_ her.

"Lizzy wait," he cries, feeling suddenly desperate, not knowing what he wants but knowing he doesn't want her to go, because then he will be alone again, and he is so tired of being alone. He scrambles up, reaching for her, she turns to look at him and smiles sadly as his hand goes through her and feels like it's been dipped in ice. He curses and cradles it and when he looks up she is gone.

Finally he goes back to where they were sitting and looks down at the bottle lying in the sand.

"I'm mad," he says tiredly, "Or maybe…maybe I _am_ just getting old."

He bends down and picks up the bottle.

"No," he says defiantly looking down at the clear liquid, "_Never_." And he uncorks it.

**V. We Die...**

The last time he sees her he, it's been three years since their talk on that beach and he looks as young as he had all those many years ago, when they first parted ways after worlds end. They look at each other, sizing each other up; they are standing on a beach the wind blowing and the surf coming in. A different beach, he thinks it might be Rum Island, but he can't be sure.

He does know, with a surety, that he was the last pirate, but he doesn't feel sad about it. He had gotten sick of feeling tired.

"I didn't think you'd come," she finally says.

"Well here I am," he says.

"Yes here you are," she laughs. "Somewhere inside I think I still trusted you would come, like you always did."

They stare at each other some more, it seems like an age since they've seen each other.

"You look…young," he finally says, taking in her wrinkle free face and her shining brown hair. She is wearing her old pirate clothing, and her whole face shines with youth and life.

"I know," she smiles, "So do you."

"Always," he says, flashing his teeth.

"This place," he says looking around, "It's…different then what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Fire and brimstone I suppose," he gives a wane smile.

"There was nothing to fear."

"You could have told me that."

"It was a decision you had to make."

"Aye," he says looking out toward the sea and the setting sun. "And I chose death."

"No," she says smiling, "You didn't."

"So," he says looking around the empty beach filled with only palm trees and shells. "You were_ all_ waiting then eh?"

"The others are just on the other side," she says, "I decided to wait here for you though, to show you the way. I thought maybe you might get lost."

"Almost did," he says looking down at his boots which were shining like they hadn't done in years.

"So, what helped you decide?" she asks curious.

"Living because you think dying is unpleasant, it's not really living at all love," he says smiling cheekily, "I thought you would have known that."

She laughs.

"You know for being dead," he says flexing his hands, which sprung back nicely, and bending his knees, which no longer creak, "I feel awfully alive."

"How did you…get here then …if I may ask?" she queries.

He looks up at her and grins, "The natural way darling," he says.

"You got old then," she says slightly sad at the thought.

"Never," he says, flashing his teeth. "Always never."

"Well we did start to think we'd be waiting forever," she says, smiling.

"In the end I just couldn't give up my best adventure darling," he says, looking down still amazed at his hands, which no longer had any wrinkles. "You should have known that."

"Maybe when James comes you can tell him the story."

"About what?" he asks, looking up now.

"The one about life."

He grins, "Maybe."

She turns and begins to walk towards the sea, he watches; she turns back and gives him an expectant look. "Well are you coming then?"

"It's been a long time," he says quietly, still amazed at how young he feels and looks.

"Never too late Jack," she says laughing because after all these years he still reminds her of a child.

"No never too late," he says, flashing his teeth, "Never."

And he follows her and his eyes are still shining.


End file.
